


Fill You Like A Canvas (as the daylight enters)

by seasonschange



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Artist Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bye Bye Butt Virginity, Coming Out, Demisexual Steve Rogers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone is a Good, Fake Marriage, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Natasha is a Good, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pining, Pining Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum, Proposals, Top Bucky Barnes, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasonschange/pseuds/seasonschange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a professional photographer roaming around the globe, chasing after his lost inspiration. Natasha Romanoff is a 'retired' spy who needs a way out of Russia.</p><p>Steve has the will to help her into the United States. And Natasha knows the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fill You Like A Canvas (as the daylight enters)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tweet:  
>   
> and [this adorbs anon](http://thesafesthands.tumblr.com/post/142244060011/go-write-the-bucky-drunk-at-steves-wedding-thing).
> 
> Title from Leo Kalyan's song, _[Full Circle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sv0_nEXf70c)_.

* * *

He was a fool.

He was a fool who'd hoped witnessing Steve and Natasha's union would somehow cure him from his unnatural inclinations once and for all, like a magical remedy to his heartache. He'd thought it'd be enough to dry out the source of all those terrible feelings. That it'd finally bring him some kind of closure, and some  _goddamn_ peace at last.

He was _such_ a fool.

The wedding ceremony had been flashy and romantic, just like the movies. Not exactly how Bucky had pictured his best friend's wedding day knowing his quiet character and his preference for 'small and intimate'. But Natasha had wanted a big ceremony, and Steve had consented without an inkling of a fight. They were lucky Natasha wasn't just a crazy spender, and actually had very good taste.

For the entire duration of the ceremony, Steve's eyes had remained trained on his wife-to-be. From behind his back Bucky'd been unable to get a good look at his face, but he didn't need that to know Steve's eyes had probably shone with pure love and devotion.

The moment had held an air of hushed, elegant formality. Probably a result of Natasha's manners as she stood perfectly straight and listened intently to each and every single one of the priest's words with a quiet reverence. It'd been only faintly tinted with Steve's trademark awkwardness as he almost dropped the ring before he could slide it onto Natasha's slender finger, probably shaking from the excitement of becoming her husband.

Bucky had watched from the sidelines and managed to catch a glimpse at Steve's face over the taller man's shoulder during the exchange of vows. When Steve's voice shook and his hold on Natasha's hands grew tighter, Bucky had wanted to puke. Or cry. Or maybe a mix of both, and for once he couldn't blame it on the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, keeping him numb _—_ keeping him  _sane_.

* * *

They had left the church all together, a procession of limousines honking merrily all the way to the gardens rented for the day. And there under the generous shade of a circular tent, the Rogers family, friends of the family and Natasha's distant cousins who'd been the only ones able to make it to the wedding were now gathered around the large U-shaped banquet table, enjoying their meals and the company. And never missing an occasion to congratulate the happy couple on their recent union.

Bucky stared at his empty plate. He was quite possibly the only one who wasn't chewing right now. And he knew he should be getting something in his stomach, if only to try and sober up a bit _—_  but the idea of sobriety didn't sound appealing under the circumstances. If it wasn't for alcohol, he wouldn't be keeping it together so well.

He'd probably be in some dark corner, licking his wounds. But in his quality of best man, he couldn't possibly disappear without a good explanation. Not when he was supposed to give the opening speech soon.

_Fuck._

Eyes cast down, he followed compulsively the lines of the golden woodland creatures adorning his plate, trying to focus on anything else than the 'just married' pair seated right next to him.

When it didn't help any more than the fruity wine Bucky'd been imbibing himself with since this morning _—_  he'd gotten an early start at Steve's parents' house _—_  his eyes raked frenetically over the rest of the assembly in search of something... _anything_ to distract his noisy mind.

His left eyelid twitched, and Bucky slapped a hand over it, rubbing with two fingers at the skin until it stopped. He hated that fucking tic, always manifesting itself when he felt raw as an exposed nerve. Reminding him how much of a fucking emotional mess he was.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

He was in no shape to give a speech. Food still didn't look appealing at all; he was afraid of bringing the contents of his stomach back up if he ate. Somehow, it seemed like the best solution would be  _more_ wine.

Without any further hesitation Bucky grabbed his glass and downed its contents in one desperate gulp. He noticed his hand shook, and he quickly put the glass down before anyone noticed. Not that there was a single guest who wasn't completely enthralled by the bride and groom at the moment. Or wasn't downing their umpteenth glass of poison of choice, too.

The rest of the fancy silverware ( _that_ _I helped Natasha pick_ , his traitorous brain helpfully supplied) was turning blurry now, and Bucky blinked a couple of times until the edges and shapes were sharp again. God, wherever he looked there were evidences of his input. _This is as much my wedding as it is theirs_ , he thought with a dark glee at his own joke. Or it was perhaps simply cruel irony.

Bucky shouldn't have but because deep down he was a _fucking masochist_ he'd assisted Natasha over the last month with organizing the W-day as Steve's mother playfully referred to it. Apparently Natasha was against the concept of a wedding planner.

 _"I'm not hiring a stranger to plan the most important day of my life"_ she'd announced with her arms crossed, hard r's rolling off her tongue as her eyes glinted with mischief, like a private joke Bucky had unfortunately failed to grasp. Half of the reasons why Bucky had offered his help were probably due to the fact that Natasha was  _very good_ at persuading people into doing things _her_ way (she already had Steve wrapped around her finger and that in itself was a fucking _exploit_ ) — and the other half were because of his own petty jealousy.

Bucky had agreed to lend a hand setting up his worst nightmare because he'd wanted to spend time with that exotic beauty who had managed to catch Steve's attention and keep it. The woman who'd stolen his heart in the span of a couple of weeks. The woman who had _so easily_ conquered the man Bucky'd been fantasizing about, crushing on, followed and fully supported in all his crazy ideas for _years._

Of course Natasha had turned out to be the most beautiful, smartest, funniest person Bucky had ever met. There had been no questioning Steve's choice. If there was a woman who could ever be worthy of his love, Bucky had reluctantly admitted that it'd be her; it'd be Natasha Romanoff. She was the right partner Steve had spent what felt like their whole lives talking about.

Bucky had even found himself developing the kind of affection for Natasha he'd feel for his own sister, their personalities and especially their quick wits aligning perfectly. They'd had little to no trouble working together on setting up the special event, their tastes rarely diverging from one another.

No wonder they had both fallen hard for the same man.

But because he was an utter asshole, Bucky couldn't enjoy the results of all that hard work. As his empty eyes wandered down the length of the table, unable to focus on anything, deaf to the soft music and the sounds of dozens of voices buzzing with excitement all around him. His mind just couldn't give him a break, intent on torturing him over and over with one single, terrible truth.

_I love him._

His heart fluttered, missing a beat before starting up faster than before.

God, even the simple  _thought_  felt... too much.

Too wrong.

Wrong because that knowledge didn't fill him with dizzy happiness. There were no butterflies leaving a tingling sensation in his stomach.

Love didn't make him want to burst into a song. It didn't feel like a beautiful epiphany. If anything, it made his gut twist into a painful knot every time he would hear Steve's — fuck, _the_ _groom's_  booming laughter right next to him.Love quickened his heartbeat every time the tip of their polished shoes would accidentally brush against each other, or every time Steve's elbow would gently connect with his forearm, so blissfully oblivious and thoughtless Steve would get when he got worked up over a story that he didn't notice his flying limbs.

Love filled Bucky with hate because he shouldn't, _oh_ how he shouldn't be feeling this way on his best friend's wedding day. The hate and anger was directed inwardly, at none other but himself. Because really, what kind of an egotistic jerk spent most of the day avoiding the couple like the plague, just because he was afraid he would fall apart if he had to face them? What kind of a prick stood in the backroom next to the man about to marry the love of his life, and had to _fight_ the urge to turn their comforting hug into _something else_ _?_ Something with teeth and lips and mingling breaths. 

What kind of self-centered asshole secretly wished this was nothing but a dream, an illusion, a _misunderstanding?_ Who wished Steve would suddenly unwrap his arm from around  _his wife's_ shoulders and turn around... and finally _see_ Bucky, maybe for the first time.

See him as he really were — brokenhearted, and so in love there was no room for anything else.

Bucky knew he was that asshole.

He was that ungrateful friend, that traitor who lusted after his friends' partners for years. From the shadows, like a dirty little secret.

Like a creep.

And to think that this morning Steve had joked about the myth of the inevitable best man-bridesmaid hookup and teased Bucky about the way he looked at Wanda and whatnot. If only he'd known how little interest Bucky had in the bridesmaid. If he could Bucky'd have turned it into a best man-groom hookup. But he hadn't said that. He'd waggled his eyebrows instead, and made Steve laugh. And he'd tucked away the hurt and desperate earning for the other man; kept it away from showing on his face.

But Bucky was also the friend who'd only recently discovered how much he wanted what _they_  had. From day one Bucky had been able to quash the unrequited desire Steve inspired him because at that time, it'd been nothing but that. Desire. Lust. And Steve's friendship had felt like more than enough to feed his greed.

Now he knew that he'd never truly seen all Steve was capable of. He'd thought Steve unable to love anyone back. Had watched all the women that always seemed to flock around Steve wherever he went, and he'd waited patiently as Steve tried to make a relationship last before parting ways with her after a couple of months. It'd been the same pattern over and over again, Steve never managing to care deeply enough for any of his girlfriends to make it last. The women all eventually grew tired of waiting for him to fully commit himself, and dumped him. Or he dumped them, to spare them the trouble.

Back then Bucky couldn't even _dream_ of ever seeing Steve fully committed to someone, going as far as spending most of his time with them.

So whatever had happened in Russia, it had to have been something truly magical.

And now that he'd had a glimpse at what it could be, what being the recipient of Steve's love could be  _—_ Bucky wanted it, too. He wanted _more_ than what he used to think would be more than enough: his perpetual fantasy of one reckless, blissful night of fooling around with Steve, then pretending it never happened in the light of day. He wanted _more_  than to slide his hard-on between those perfect mounds and _fuck_ the most attractive guy he'd ever seen.

When Steve had come back from his spontaneous trip around the world months later with a Russian lady at his arm, beaming down at her like she held the sun and moon and all the stars — in that moment Bucky had known that he was long past wanting Steve's body. He was greedier now; he wanted Steve's heart, too.

_Fuck her for winning it first!_

Bucky immediately regretted that thought, bile rising bitter and ugly at the back of his throat. He swallowed, suddenly aware that he'd been tugging at his collar for who knew how long, his skin hot and clammy underneath his shirt and grey suit.

 _Tailored and bought specially for the occasion_ , he thought and since it appeared he was out of wine, he made do with the closest bottle of champagne.

Natasha had done nothing to deserve his contempt. And it wasn't as if Bucky'd stood a chance in the first place. Steve was the definition of the straight dude. And Bucky... well, he'd only started to question his sexual orientation recently, and he wasn't yet prepared for the big Coming Out thing.

And if he was honest with himself, what did it matter when the only one he wanted was the one he could never have?

* * *

"Hey, Bucky! Time for a speech!"

"Yeah!"

"A toast for the happy couple!"

"Speech, speech, speech!"

Bucky shook his head.

"Buck, c'mon."

Steve, this time. Right next to him, nudging him with his elbow again.

Bucky found the strength to roll his eyes at him.

_No way. Tongue too numb._

He waved his arm above his head, trying to silence the shouts. But then he caught a whiff of whiskey and startled as a hand landed heavily atop his shoulder. He was gently shaken, and when he looked up he met Tony's loose, goofy smile.

"Hey pal, that's your cue! Come on, enjoy your one moment of glory! Stand up!"

He was then unceremoniously lifted to his feet by two sets of strong arms and there was a glass of whiskey shoved in his hand, courtesy of Tony.

He shivered when his brain registered that one set belonged to Steve.

"Speech, speech, speech," the rest of them kept chanting like a mantra.

Even the orchestre had quieted down in expectation of the ardently awaited moment for mush and emotional oversharing and for the floodgates to open as family and friends competed to move the couple to tears.

Bucky smiled despite himself, and clasped Tony's offered hand.

"Alright, I'm up," he conceded, stifling a hiccup to which Tony laughed and shook his head before he retreated back to his seat, muttering something like  _"goddamn lightweight"_ under his breath.

"You're so drunk," Steve noted with a smirk.

Bucky wobbled a bit on his feet, then steadied himself. Or so he hoped.

"You bet your ass I am."

"This is gonna be fun to watch."

A slap on his back, and then Steve was back at his wife's side.

Bucky raised his glass at the rest of the assembly and smiled broadly as they raised their own in return. And he thought, _fuck it all_ , it had taken him a long time to come up with a decent toast. He wasn't going to spoil Steve and Natasha's day with his personal problems. And it was truly a relief to be back to pretending everything was alright.

He could almost believe it was so.

"Um... fuck, sorry, I think I might be a little drunker than I intended, so..."

He trailed off and laughed with the rest of them. He tried to remember how his carefully rehearsed speech was supposed to start.

"Alright, let's do this."

Steve was snorting beside him, and Bucky heard Natasha's quiet chuckle join him. He turned to face them and shook his glass a bit, watching the two fingers of whiskey slosh around. Then miracle of all miracles, his speech came back to him.

"We're all gathered here today to celebrate the union of my best friend, and his wonderful wife. And I must admit that _I_ never saw that day coming."

Bucky almost lost track of his sentence when he noticed Natasha's frown, but he soldiered on and focused instead on Steve's toothy grin as he thoroughly enjoyed watching Bucky make a complete ass of himself in front of all his friends and relatives.

"At first," he started again, licking his lips and casting a glance at the rest of his audience, "it was kind of a shock. I mean, it was to all of us — sorry, Steve, you knew we were whispering behind your back. No?" Steve was laughing and shaking his head, eyebrows drawn in disbelief. Bucky shrugged, "I didn't start it, I blame these guys," he pointed at Steve's parents and Sarah blushed before blowing a kiss in the hopes of soothing her son's bruised pride.

"But then," he carried on after the fresh round of laughter had quieted down, "then I spent some time with Natasha, and I gotta tell you, that woman is fucking extraordinary. That was the moment when I thought to myself _'these two, fuck, dude, they're meant for each other!'_ ".

At that point Bucky wasn't sure what was part of his rehearsed version and what was improvisation, but he was sure the first draft didn't include so many 'fucks'. Although everyone was enjoying themselves immensely, so Bucky decided it was safe to just go with it and let his mouth run for as long as it would. He'd been told he had a knack for working a crowd, so he wasn't completely clueless even when drunk.

"Natasha," he called, and she smirked at him with her chin nestled atop her joined hands. "Since I haven't known you long enough, unfortunately I've only got embarrassing stories about your husband, here."

"That's perfectly fine!"

Steve moaned and buried his face in her neck, which finally made Natasha burst out laughing. She then cupped the back of his head and held him close like she was calming down a child, her manicured fingers combing through the blond hair.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat at the carefree display of affection.

His hand was back at shaking.

"It's tradition, Steve," he amended, "I don't make the rules."

"I hate you!"

To erase the mental picture of Steve burying his face in _Bucky's_ neck, seeking comfort and affection from _him_ like a big, touch-starved cat — Bucky dived head first into his story and did his best to focus on the one about him and Steve's first meeting at the tender age of thirteen, and how back in that time Steve had looked about as built as his pinkie (he had helpfully held his pinkie finger up to show his audience — making Steve groan in defeat, and Sarah and Natasha giggle like little school girls). And how he'd saved the skinny boy's ass from a bunch of bullies, only to realize later that it was  _Steve's_ fault if they had come at him in the first place. That rebellious punk.

And then for some fucked up reason he still couldn't understand, instead of bringing his toast to a close, Bucky had... went on.

It was like something inside him, some kind of force  _wasn't done yet._ Had refused to remain quiet any longer.

"To the lucky couple, who I'm sure will live happily ever after, have lots of babies and all that jazz. Although I doubt that she or anyone else in this room could ever love you as much as I do," he added, his mouth running on its own now, in complete divorce with whatever was happening upstairs.

Because Bucky's brain was actually screaming _YOU. FUCKING. IDIOT. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP._

But Bucky licked his suddenly dry lips once more, and instead of listening he raised his glass a little higher, his grip a little firmer. His left eyelid twitched a single pathetic time when he looked down and met Steve's gaze. The other's eyes were slightly round, and he wasn't laughing anymore.

Bucky's throat was suddenly tight like a vise, and it was only when he had to blink to clear his vision that he realized he was welling up.

_Oh, God._

He wasn't supposed to be the one to tear up like a baby. What the fuck was he doing?

And Steve... Steve looked like he'd just been struck by lightning. Like he was crumbling from the inside.

Like Bucky was killing him slowly.

"I wish you all the happiness in the world," Bucky choked out, voice hoarse like he'd been crying for days. He was aware of repeating the same sentiment on a loop but it was too late to stop, the dam was broken. "From the fucking bottom of my heart. Cheers."

He downed the liquor and closed his eyes to fully enjoy the burn down his throat as he swallowed. And maybe to escape the intensity of Steve's piercing blue eyes, too. To escape the disgust that was certainly coming, ready to distort the beloved features of his best friend.

The silence that fell once he was done wasn't deafening.

He wished it was.

Instead there were murmurs of disbelief and a few nervous giggles smothered behind the palm of a hand. There was laughter, too, but it sounded cruel to his ears, now. Mocking, slicing through him like the sharp edge of a knife.

Judging him; assessing the meaning behind those words.

"He couldn't be..."

"No."

"...you think?"

_Shit. I gotta get out of here._

But then... then he was dragged away from his seat at Steve's side, and the overpowering smell of whiskey was the only clue his brain registered as he was smothered inside Tony's arms and against his wide chest, and then everyone else who'd been too drunk or probably not paying enough attention to realize what had just happened was surrounding him somewhere on the farthest side of the semi-open tent, congratulating him on his 'fucking hilarious speech'.

As he stood on the edge of the fancy wedding tent, Bucky enjoyed the cool air coming from the gardens. It was a relief as it blew across his heated skin, but it wasn't nearly enough to erase the last twenty minutes from his memory.

 _Did I come out?_ He wondered, his thoughts scattering in every directions, making it harder to focus.  _Did I?_

There were a few other toasts after that, but both were very succinct and not more than a few words of good wishes for the couple's future life together. Bucky hardly heard them, too busy downing every glass Tony offered him. It was only later that night that he dared cast a glance in Steve's direction, but after a careful perusal of his surroundings he found that he and Natasha were nowhere to be seen. 

They had probably left early to catch their plane.

 _Honeymoon,_ Bucky thought, closing his eyes tight until he saw stars.  _I was the one who sat down with Natasha and looked at the possibilities. I was the one who suggested Japan._

Bucky bit down on his tongue, wishing he could taste blood. He couldn't even  _begin_ to imagine what was going to happen to him and Steve once they were back.

If they would remain friends. If Natasha would forbid them to ever see each other again.

If Steve would immediately agree with her like he did about everything else.

_Natasha Rogers. His wife. Fuck, of course he would-_

"Alright, enough whiskey for you. Let's get you out of here."

Sam.

Bucky and Steve's roommate. Well, at least until recently when one of them had had the  _wonder-fucking-ful_ idea of getting hitched and moving away to a brand new apartment with his wife — before disappearing to fucking Kyoto.

"Yeah," he moaned sadly. "Get me out of here."

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for reading! Sorry for the mistakes, I'll come back later and correct what I can. And if you're from the tumblr clique who was pushing af for this story to happen (*cough* viper, zayzay, ivy feat. anons & other wonderful people): YOU BETTER LIKE IT. SINCE YOU ASKED FOR IT. *huffs*


End file.
